


Cabbages

by Ambitious_Rubbish



Series: Miscellaneous Miscellanea [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-24 20:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21344365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambitious_Rubbish/pseuds/Ambitious_Rubbish
Summary: The climactic battle between Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard and Champion of Kirkwall Marian Hawke nearly brought ruin to an entire city. And yet few seem to truly know what actually transpired during their titanic struggle.A recounting of those epic events from one who was actually there.
Series: Miscellaneous Miscellanea [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910671
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for: https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/84169.html?thread=337031881#cmt337031881

They called her “Seeker,” and it was a more than appropriate title for the work she was doing.

No one, however, had informed her just how much actual _work_ there would be in her… well, work. Her superiors had, unsurprisingly, seen fit to withhold from her just how much sifting through the useless detritus of people’s imperfect recollections and biased accounts, she would have to do in order to find the lone kernel of truth she sought.

Still, thankless task though it might have been, her status, her position – these were not things bestowed upon the lazy or the irresponsible. And so, as frustrating as it was, there were still interrogations that needed to be conducted.

And she would conduct them.

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry.”

The statement itself was simple enough, but even the least fervent followers of the Andrastian faith understood the implications of those words – understood what was expected of a Seeker, and what she would expect in return.

At least, such had always been the case in Cassandra’s experience.

This time was proving to be rather… novel.

“And just, uh… what are you seeking?”

“The Champion.”

“Which one?”

Cassandra felt one of her eyebrows rise higher than the other. She herself wasn’t even entirely certain if it was puzzlement she was feeling or something harsher, like annoyance at the seeming impertinence of the question.

“You know exactly why I’m here! Time to start talking. They tell me you’re good at it.”

“All right. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start at the beginning.”

“Um. No.”

The response was so unexpected, even Cassandra’s normal stoicism cracked, if only for a moment. She stared at the man she was interrogating, at how he sat, perfectly composed, in the middle of the single beam of light that pierced the room’s darkness. The rest of the room sat in shadow, but in that one circle in the exact center of the chamber, the light was blinding, and yet this man seemed completely nonplussed by that fact. Her eyes went wide, even as he continued on. “I mean, I could, but I’m pretty sure you’re really only interested in how the story ends, right? So let’s just skip to the good part...”


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke and Meredith squared off in the middle of the Gallows courtyard. Torches guttered around them, lending an eerie red-orange light to the spectacle of sword constantly clashing against sword. The occasional set of sparks flew when one combatant unleashed a particularly savage attack against her opponent, and for some time, it seemed that the two women were fairly evenly matched.

Unfortunately for Kirkwall’s Champion, the leader of the Templars had more than just raw steel on her side, and as she raised her red lyrium blade over her head, the very statues lining the outskirts of the plaza came to life.

Clouds of dust scattered into the air and stone splintered underfoot as the hulking monstrosities flexed their newly freed limbs and began advancing on Hawke and her companions. Enormous mailed fists and the cruel weapons clutched within them swung ponderously. The creatures looked so slow, so clumsy, and yet, it was precisely that awkwardness that made them seem so large and so ominous. Everyone knew that even a glancing blow would be enough to maim, possibly even kill outright.

Hawke was hard pressed as Meredith used the sudden distraction to push firmly against the Champion’s defenses, but she still had the presence of mind to shout orders. “Spread out! Split them up and bring them down!” she cried out to her friends, and in an impressive display of coordination – one that could come only from a team that had spent so long watching each other’s backs – they turned, almost in total unison, to meet this new threat.

The elf swordsman broke from her side, weaving in between one of the juggernauts’ legs, slashing at the joints with carefully aimed strikes intended to cripple the statue’s mobility. On the other side of the plaza, the fiery-haired captain of the city guard was doing the same. Her face was a mask of grim determination as she dodged the behemoth’s footfalls and the ungainly swipe of an enormous halberd, all the while looking for an opening in its guard that she could slip the point of her sword into.

Behind the two of them, the dwarf was drifting to the edge of the swirling conflict, angling for a clean shot. “Bet you fifty gold Bianca can put a bolt right in that thing’s eye from here.”

“No bet, Varric,” the Starkhaven noble said with a terse shake of the head. He sidestepped a sword swing from one of Meredith’s remaining Templars, then quickly let loose an arrow at his attacker from near point-blank range. The shot was powerful enough to punch through the thick metal plate covering the Templar’s legs, and he collapsed with a strangled yell as the arrow pierced his thigh. He spared no further thought for his downed opponent, turning his sights now on Varric’s target. “If you miss, we’ll probably both die, and I don’t get to collect.”

“Well, then, what would you suggest?”

Sebastian had already fitted another arrow to his string and was busily taking aim. “Shoot until they drop. Or we do.”

Varric snorted softly. “Not nearly as dramatic, but I guess I can work with that.”

A ball of pure flame suddenly sizzled past them, close enough and hot enough to steal the archers’ breath away. It was poorly aimed, however, slamming into the ground just short of one of the advancing statues, leaving a set of blackened cobblestones behind to mark its passing.

“Merrill!” The younger of the two Hawke sisters protested as a slim, elven hand came down on her wrist and spoiled her aim. “What are you doing?!”

“Is fire really such a good idea?” A sharp crease furrowed the elven mage’s brow as she weighed her options and tried to determine which of several tactics would work best.

Bethany, however, was being a little less deliberate in her approach. “… why not?”

“Well, I suppose it _could_ work, but metal absorbs heat, and-”

“And if metal gets hot enough, it _melts._” Bethany pulled her hand free and let fly with another fireball. This one crashed solidly into the statue’s chest. The flames engulfed the metal leviathan for the space of a few moments, and when they finally dissipated, the metal left behind had indeed lost some of its sharp and well-defined edges.

“Oh!” Merrill clapped her hands together with excitement. “Let me try!”

This time, a bolt of white-hot lightning sizzled across the courtyard. Merrill’s target staggered momentarily under the hammer blow, but nobody seemed to notice as a slightly weaker (but still more than lethal) fork of energy leapt away from the statue and arced towards a dark-skinned woman in a white tunic and blue bandana. The resulting explosion blasted one of the cobblestones near her left foot in half.

“… **Oi! Watch it!**”

Merrill winced and waved sheepishly as Isabela turned to glare at her.

“Sorry!”

Bethany found time to smirk. “So… lightning. Bad idea?”


	3. Chapter 3

And so it went. The Gallows shuddered from the incredible violence of the battle. From explosions. From the stomping feet of enormous, metal combatants. Over here, stone splintered from the discharge of powerful spells. Over there, the facade of a building would crumble as a result. An animated statue, wounded grievously, would topple, sending its far smaller opponents scrambling in all directions to avoid being crushed. And through it all, Hawke and Meredith continued to trade blow after blow, neither woman giving ground. It looked like a battle that could have no end, for neither could gain a decisive advantage over the other. Meredith, driven by madness, with the wealth of combat experience granted to her by her age. Hawke, younger and fitter, with greater strength and reach if not the same level of skill and finesse that her adversary possessed.

Even their companions seemed to be just as evenly matched. Meredith’s Templars had long since ceased to be a threat, but their gigantic metal replacements were more than up to the task of challenging Hawke’s companions. They may have been slow and clumsy, but they would never tire, while Hawke’s friends would. In fact, they already were. Fenris’ sword was just a shade slower than normal. Aveline’s shield did not rise as high as it usually did after blocking an attack. Isabela looked slower on her feet as she leaped and tumbled and pirouetted to dodge one strike after another.

And so on.

They needed to make something happen before the golems simply wore them down. And then ground them down. Into dust.

“Maybe… maybe it’s time to try the lightning again?” Bethany wheezed as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I nearly hit Isabela the last time!” Merrill replied, shaking her head vehemently.

“Well, then… don’t!”

Merrill grumbled. “That’s very helpful.”

But even though she had very little faith in Bethany’s proposed plan, their choices were few and their desperation total. They would have to try it.

The younger Hawke began to shout warnings to her friends, urging them to back away and put as much distance between themselves and their oversized opponents as they could. Meanwhile, the elf maneuvered herself near to the middle of the arena, hoping to get a clear, unobstructed view of as much of the battlefield as was possible. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and then began her spell.

The magic built up around her, charging the air with arcane energy, making her skin tingle. She ignored the distraction, focused her attention on the remaining statue – the largest yet of the lot. Three of her friends were still near the monster – too close for her comfort. But they needed to be. Each of the three was doing his or her best to try and hold the statue’s attention. They’d split up, each pulling it in different directions as they baited the simple-minded automaton into first chasing one of them, then the other, then the next.

If the lumbering behemoth had managed to close the range to any one of them, that would have been the end, but as it was, it simply didn’t have the speed or dexterity necessary to keep up with three targets moving quickly and seemingly at random. Adding to its difficulties, the two archers continued to harrow it with arrows, aiming for anything that looked even remotely vulnerable. Joints, unarmored sections along the torso, or “soft spots” formed from the impacts of previous spells were all priority targets.

A portion of Merrill’s mind was aware enough of her surroundings to take in all of this, but she chose not to focus on it, to instead shove those thoughts aside. The spell she was about to unleash was no minor cantrip, and the magic came to her only reluctantly. She could ill afford to be worried about anything other than completing the spell and completing it properly.

The others would just have to fend for themselves.

As she chanted, as she twisted her hands into the requisite gestures, the magic ebbed and flowed around her, and the air seemed to grow heavier. It felt oppressive now, and she recognized that feeling in the pit of her stomach – that something big, something raw and primal was straining mightily to be unleashed.

Merrill pointed her finger, and the air was suddenly filled with the sharp, unmistakable tang of ozone as a jagged bolt of lightning darted towards her target. The blast hit the statue dead center in the chest, and while it had shrugged off many an attack before now, this time even it couldn’t resist a blast of such magnitude. The statue shuddered violently before stopping dead in its tracks. Its arms slumped to its sides. Its metal skeleton groaned as the rest of its momentum fled it.

But there was no time to celebrate. Not yet. Flashes of red-tinted light began to pour from the monster’s joints, and the wind suddenly picked up. The remnants of whatever unfathomable magic that had animated the thing in the first place began to coalesce into a swirling funnel, and as the wind grew stronger and stronger still, an eerie howl echoed throughout The Gallows.

Hawke’s party fell back before a hailstorm of debris and showers of sparks. The air around them continued to crackle and hiss, and then, this sudden, inexplicable tornado shot up into the air, its passage marked by a deafening ***Crack!*** Below, on the ground, those still awake and aware covered their ears to shield them from the horrific sound, but the terror was yet in its infancy.

The funnel of pulverized stone, eerie red sparks and raw magical energy coalesced into a thin column of blood-red light which pierced the heavens. The phenomenon could be seen for miles, and all throughout Kirkwall, citizens looked to the sky. Some prayed. Many fell to their knees, babbling, sobbing and wailing, utterly convinced in the deepest pits of their souls that The Maker had come to claim them.

Merrill looked on in horror. All her experience with magic – even blood magic – and she had never seen anything even remotely like this. This couldn’t be her doing. Her spell would never – could never – do anything like what she was now witnessing. Could it?

The rest of the party stared, dumbstruck and disbelieving, and even Meredith and Hawke had lowered their weapons and turned their faces to the sky to watch.

Yet again, the heavens thundered, and a blindingly, blisteringly bright beam of that frightening red light came scorching out of the sky, like the column of fire that had consumed Andraste at the stake.

Over in one corner of The Gallows that had somehow – miraculously – remained untouched throughout the battle, were a motley collection of merchant carts. Their owners had long since fled the battlefield itself, of course, but even now, a wretched handful huddled just on the other side of the gates leading from The Gallows. They watched in horror as that beam of searing light crashed down upon the carts, obliterating them instantly, leaving nothing behind but ash and wispy trails of dark, gray smoke.

There was a cry – of despair, of anguish in its purest form.

“**My CABBAGES!**”

\-----

Cassandra looked as if she would vomit. She gestured savagely to the guards standing by the door to the tiny interrogation chamber. “Get him out of here.”

One guard immediately strode forward, hauled the prisoner to his feet and then shoved him out through the door. And he was not gentle about it. The second guard followed in their wake, shutting the door behind himself.

That left Cassandra alone in the room except for one person.

“Really, Cassandra? A cabbage merchant? That was the best you could do?”

The Nevarran growled. “How’s it going trying to find that poncy elf boyfriend of yours, Leliana?”

“At least I haven’t spent the last week interviewing a _cabbage merchant._”

“At least I haven’t been getting it slipped to me by a skinny elf.”

“Half-wit.”

“Pervy elf-fancier.”


End file.
